


A Patchwork Family: Sharing in Joy

by Lbilover



Series: A Patchwork Family Series [16]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, Post-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: The four Travellers and Huan share a thanksgiving dinner with the Sandheaver family.





	A Patchwork Family: Sharing in Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Bell and Hal Sandheaver and their family first appeared in [At the Sign of the Golden Perch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8917510). Helps to have read that story first.

Bell Sandheaver smoothes her work-worn hands over the skirt of her new gown and marvels anew at the softness of the green wool. She’s never owned a dress so grand, and though she still isn’t certain that Hal ought to have spent the coin on such costly material, she can’t help but be glad that he did. It had given him such pleasure to buy it for her, and she will never forget the glow in his eyes when he held the bolt of cloth up against her and said in a hoarse voice, “I reckoned this would suit you, Bell-love, and I were right.” Well, one thing had led to another and now… Bell smiles to herself.

But there is no time to dwell on even the pleasantest of memories. She and Hal have guests arriving shortly, and no ordinary guests at that, but the four Travellers. They’ve been planning this dinner for many days now, a dinner of thanks and gratitude, and they both want everything to be as perfect as may be.

She steps out of their bedchamber and encounters her husband coming to find her. He stops dead at the sight of her, an arrested expression on his face, and Bell is reminded of the first time she ever set eyes on young Hal Sandheaver, all those years ago in Bree. Just such a look had Hal worn then, and just such a leap had her heart given as it does now. Bell has never regretted her choice of a husband, no not once, not even during the hard times, and there have been some very hard times indeed.

“Bless me if you don’t look a treat, Bell,” Hal exclaims, offering her his hands. Bell takes them, and Hal holds them out to the side while his admiring glance takes her in from lace-capped head to bare toes. She feels a blush creep over her cheeks; but Hal can do that to her, can’t he, make her feel like a young and comely lass again. “I don’t know, though,” he says teasingly, “maybe you ought to go and change into summat less fine. I wouldn’t want Mr. Frodo to go tumbling head over heels for you.”

“Oh, go on with you, Hal Sandheaver,” Bell laughs, though it’s on the tip of her tongue to say that Frodo Baggins doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Sam Gamgee. But it would feel odd to put the thought into words, even though everyone knows that Mr. Frodo and Sam live together at Bag End like as if they were married. There’s talk enough about them in the marketplace in Buckland--most of it kindly-- not that Bell has ever needed telling. She could see the way things stood between them that time they visited with Mr. Merry, after Hal, to his everlasting shame and regret, had knocked poor Sam unconscious outside the _Perch_. The quiet little touches, the anxious looks when they were apart, as if they couldn’t bear to be out of each other’s sight even for a moment… Aye, Mr. Frodo and Sam are in love, and Bell has learnt that love is love and a treasure wherever it is found. “That's enough of your foolishness, my dear,” she scolds gently. “Come along now. Time’s a-wasting and that goose won’t remove itself from the oven.”

But she stretches up and busses Hal firmly on the lips first. Love is a treasure, right enough, and she doesn’t want Hal ever to doubt it.

***

They’ve given thanks for a bountiful harvest, and for all the blessings that life has bestowed upon them. Hal has carved the goose, succulent and cooked to a turn, the food platters have been passed from hobbit to hobbit, and each plate is now filled to overflowing with roast goose and apple stuffing, sprouts and chestnuts, roast potatoes and parsnips, cranberry sauce and pudding, and lashings of gravy to go over all.

Bell gazes around the large, scrubbed wooden table, and her heart swells with joy so intense that it is almost pain. For there is her Hal sitting proudly at the head of the table, handsome in the new embroidered yellow weskit Bell has sewed for him, and on his either side are Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, tall and brave in gold and green, and silver and black. Their youngest, Theo, sits between Mr. Pippin and Sam, and Sam is telling him about the _mallorn_ -tree. Mad for tales is their Theo, and Sam, bless him, don’t seem to mind her son bending his ear with his questions. Mr. Merry is making young Hal and Toby laugh with some tale about Mr. Pippin when he was a lad, and to Bell’s right Mr. Frodo is slipping a piece of roast potato from his plate and into the waiting jaws of his little whippet Huan. 

It seems like a dream to Bell after the long terrible months of the Troubles, and yet it is not. It is real, and it is the dark days that are now the dream. Hal rises to meet each day eagerly, no longer a tired, grey-faced shadow of the hobbit he had once been. Young Hal, Toby and Theo are rosy-cheeked and smiling, no longer drawn with hunger and fear, and Bell has no need to blush for their appearance- oft darned and too small clothes are a thing of the past. It’s impossible to contain so much happiness at once; suddenly the tears are crowding think and fast upon her. 

Mr. Frodo straightens and meets her eyes. He smiles. Such a nice smile he has, Bell thinks. “Don’t tell Sam,” he leans over and whispers, like a conspirator. “He doesn’t like me to feed Huan from the table.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Bell replies, blinking hard against the moisture prickling at her eyes. “But if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Frodo, I’d best fetch more butter from the pantry. We’ll be getting low.”

“Of course,” Mr. Frodo says at once.

It’s a lie, but Bell is afraid she won’t be able to hold back her foolish tears. Hal will be worried, and her dear husband shouldn’t be worried on this of all days. She rises and walks quickly into the pantry. So silly, she thinks, to cry for happiness… She rests one hand on the counter and presses the back of the other against her mouth to stifle a sob.

“Mrs. Sandheaver? Are you all right?”

She starts in dismay. It’s Mr. Frodo; he has followed her. 

“Please forgive my intrusion,” he adds gravely, “and l shall go away again directly if you prefer, but you appeared distressed, and I was worried.”

Bell drops her hand. “I’m all right, Mr. Frodo.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “Just being silly, is all.”

Mr. Frodo tilts his head to the side, regarding her thoughtfully. Huan is, as ever, hovering close at his side, and he is watching her, too, with his head in the same attitude. It almost makes her smile, the similarity between them, but at the same time a dawning sense of wonder fills her. For this quiet, unassuming hobbit with his gentle mien is the very same who, rumour has it, walked bold as brass into the dark tower in Mordor and threw down its Dark Lord. Yet here he stands, improbably enough, in Bell Sandheaver’s pantry, looking as if there is naught more important to him in the world than easing her distress. 

“If there is one word I should _not_ use to describe you, Mrs. Sandheaver, it is ‘silly’,” Mr. Frodo comments. “I’m very sorry if anything has occurred to upset you.”

“Nay, sir, ‘tis not that,” Bell hastens to reassure him. “”Tis more like that there _is_ naught to upset me, if you take my meaning.”

“Ah.” Mr. Frodo nods, taking her meaning perfectly. “I well recall the day that my cousin Bilbo invited me to come and live with him at Bag End, when I was a tween. I could hardly keep from bursting into tears of joy. Happiness can take us that way sometimes, especially after a long period of grief or worry.”

There is something about Mr. Frodo’s eyes. It is not their colour, though she’s never seen aught so blue, but the depth of understanding in them. Dimly, Bell senses that he has seen horrors that would chill her blood, wonders that would move her to awe… and she realises that there is nothing she can tell this gentlehobbit that will surprise or shock him.

“That night, Mr. Frodo,” Bell says, and she doesn’t have to explain which night she means, “well, ‘twas the darkest of many dark nights for me and Hal. I could tell he’d done summat terrible, you see, and that what he’d told me about finding Huan was a lie, though I wanted to believe him. Then you showed up at our door, looking for your dog, and oh, Mr. Frodo, I reckoned you’d have Hal arrested for what he’d done, and that our lives were as good as over. But instead you were kindness itself to us, when we didn’t expect it nor deserve it. And now, to see my Hal so happy…” She can’t go on.

Mr. Frodo takes her by the hand. Through tear-blurred eyes she stares down at the gap where his finger is missing, and at the sight, her tears start to flow, unstoppable now; they fall onto the scarred back of his hand, but he doesn’t notice, or care if he does. “A very wise Elf once told me that I should find friends on my way when I least looked for them, and so it proved.” He presses her hand gently. “A great wrong was done to you and your family, and I am only glad that I could be a friend to you in need as others were to me.”

“Oh Mr. Frodo, you have been that, none more so.” Moved by some impulse she cannot ignore, Bell raises that scarred hand to her lips and kisses it, tasting the salt of her own tears. “Bless you, sir.” Then she drops his hand, appalled by her temerity.

But Mr. Frodo only smiles gently, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to her. “I am the one who is blessed,” he says, “to share in your joy.”

Bell wipes her eyes on the fine linen that smells faintly of lavender, and smiles tremulously back at him. “I hope you won’t think I’m always such a watering pot,” she apologises. “But Hal and me have even more cause for joy, Mr. Frodo: I’m increasing again. We’ve wanted another bairn, a sister for our lads if fortune favours us, but we’d about given up hope after so many years.”

Mr. Frodo’s smile widens, lighting up the small room. “That is cause for joy, indeed,” he exclaims, and before Bell knows what is happening, he is embracing her as carefully as if she is made of spun glass. “I cannot tell you how happy I am for you both,” he adds as he releases her. “May I share your news with Sam?” he asks eagerly.

“Of course you may, Mr. Frodo.” Bell cannot help but laugh. Frodo Baggins looks for all the world like an excited tweenager not a respectable, middle-aged gentlehobbit. 

“Thank you. I know he’ll be as overjoyed as I am. Now, don’t you think it’s time we returned, before everyone wonders what has happened to us?” He gallantly crooks his left elbow, and Bell, blushing, slips her arm around it.

Hal got it all wrong, Bell decides as Mr. Frodo escorts her back to the table, Huan leading the way. _She_ is the one in danger of tumbling head over heels—but that will remain her little secret.

~end~


End file.
